Sundown
by tiltingaxis
Summary: Finn and Rachel, missing moments. A set of angst drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

He keeps falling short.

He's the leader of a glee club that's falling apart, the quarterback of a football team that won like, two games last season. So he's a failure at that too.

( Maybe if Blaine is Rachel's co-captain in glee, there wouldn't be so many members defecting. Maybe if Shane is the captain of the football team, they'd win more. )

He sees his future flashing before his eyes sometimes, he sees himself in Burt's garage. He's a pretty decent mechanic, and Burt's all for leaving his legacy to the other son.

He sees himself living in Lima for the rest of his life. He knows just how probable that is.

It scares the hell out of him.

But she thinks he can do _anything_.

She makes him feel like he's special. When he's with her, she makes him feel like he can do anything, because, _you're better than the rest of them_.

(But he's not. Obviously.)

She makes him feel like he's better than he really is, and when reality comes to bite him in the ass (and boy, does it keep on coming), it gets harder and harder to face.

But maybe he should just get used to it. Maybe he just needs to get used to being the guy who's never good enough. Maybe then it won't hurt so fucking much every single time he fails, because _you're good Finn, you're just not good enough_.

She's magic, and when she tells him they'll find his new dream together, he believes her. But when she leaves, her magic wears off, and then he's just Finn.

Just average, not good enough, Finn.


	2. The Universal Law

**A/N: Previously posted under givemygunaway. Drabble set in Funeral.**

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><p>"What are you doing here?"<p>

She's not sure if she's seeing things, or if he's really there, with his perfectly coifed hair and his ever-present smirk and the familiarly dramatic entrance he just made. He says nothing, just looks at her, his face intense and filled with emotion, filled with- what, exactly? She used to think that it was passion, passion for her. But by now, she knows that he's just all too good at masking his utter indifference with human emotions. He's all too good of an actor for her to ever know what he's really thinking.

She realizes that she's still rooted on the spot, the piano a barrier between them. How convenient it is that everybody else has left the auditorium but her. How convenient that he caught her alone. She has so many contradicting feelings pulling her soul in every which way.

She wants to drag him, with all of the body strength that she has, drag all of him by the noose-like fabric of his scarf, all the way to the local zoo and push him straight into the lion's den to watch him beg for mercy.

That girl, the one he left in the parking lot with an egg cracked over her head, wants to cry and ask him why, ask him how he could ever say all the beautiful things he had said to her and then just left her, humiliated to the core as he walked away.

A part of her wants that long, overdue explanation. A part of her wants him to come back and beg for forgiveness, beg for another chance, just so she could have the satisfaction of stepping on his heart with her Mary Jane flats until it crumbles to dust.

His facade cracks, just a little, and suddenly she sees the doubt seeping into his eyes, the way his posture seems to slacken with hesitation.

Maybe Jesse St. James believed in karma. Maybe he really is back for reconciliation. What would she say to that?

She thinks about karma, and inevitably, as it is with every one of her thoughts, it leads to another boy, the one who does believe in it, even if he didn't fully understand it. What had she told him? It's like the law of physics. When you hurt someone, the laws of the universe will work against you until you get hurt.

Is that what happened to Jesse? If she forgives him, will karma make Finn finally forgive her?

She said it herself, you'd forgive your first love anything. Do first boyfriends count?

Finn forgave Quinn. What she did was so much worse than what Jesse had done, wasn't it?

"What are you doing here?" she asks again, when she realizes that she's been looking through him for too long.

The ever-present smirk is there again.

"Hello Rachel."


	3. Father and Son

**A/N: Drabble set in Yes/No.**

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><p>He remembers a time when his father was his hero. He remembers a time when his father gave him hope, because hey, Christopher Hudson was a small town kid too, and he went on to be a soldier and died a hero's death, and if his dad could be special, so could he.<p>

He remembers a time when it keeps him up at night, the worry that he'll never live up to his father's sacrifice, never be able to be more than just clumsy, silly, _stupid_ Finn Hudson. He wanted to be a winner, not a Lima loser. He wanted to be just like his father.

Now he stays up at night, and he worries about becoming his dad, worries that he will fail, just like his old man. His dad was a coward who ran away from his problems, and when he looks back on his own short life, the similarities feel too painful to bare.

He has no direction, nowhere to turn to. Even his mother knows that he's stupid enough to believe her lie all his life. He wished she had just kept on lying. He's nothing special, just clumsy, silly, _stupid_Finn Hudson.

Like father like son, right?

He used to be so afraid that he will never be like his father.

But now, now he's terrified that he will be exactly like him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: tumblr prompt**

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><p>There are little things that he notices about her. Small, tiny, seemingly insignificant things that he picks up without realizing it, until they snowball into one giant avalanche that traps him into the realization that he's in love with Rachel Berry.<p>

It starts with her eyes. She told him once, as they gazed longingly into his more cautious, slightly alarmed ones, that eyes are like, the doors to the soul or whatever. And Rachel's eyes are huge. Like, pretty, gorgeous, chocolate brown huge, round and deep enough to get lost in, but not like scarily gigantic like Miss Pillsbury's.

And they shine too, or at least they do when they're aimed at him. He sits on the bench one day after practice, as he waits for Quinn to finish her cheerleading, and when he stares at the smudge of brown dirt against his white pants, he finds his thoughts shifting from dinner and pizza to how this brown doesn't seem to gleam the way Rachel's eyes do.

He doesn't think much of it, but he slowly starts noticing other things too, like how nice her butt is, or that little scar on her forehead, the way she reaches his chest exactly when she's wearing flats and just slightly above his shoulders in her highest heels. Just to name a few.

She always takes a deep breath right before every performance, closing her eyes only to open them at the exact same time as the first note leaves her mouth. Her huge, confident beam always falters just slightly every time someone puts her down, and he begins to defend her, just because it feels wrong, to see her smile wobbling like that.

He notices her eyelashes the first time she ever comes over to his house, as she sits on his bedroom floor two days after Babygate, listening intently to his silent fumes and short bursts of anger. He notices how long they are when she leans over him as he lies on his bed. He isn't really aware of what she's doing because he's too concerned with the way her lashes brush against his skin, the contact giving him goosebumps seconds before the feel of her lips does the same thing.

Her long lashes clump together when she cries, and he notices this the first time he breaks her heart.

He learns to untangle them when another boy does the same, quietly brushing one finger over the long strands as she cries silently against his shoulder.

The first time he ever tells her that he loves her, he stares straight into her eyes, her eyelashes caked in make up as they stay still around those warm, brown orbs and for some reason, it feels like he is magnetically pulled to her gaze, unable to look away from the warmth that enters them, filling his own entire being with the same kind of happiness.

Her eyelashes clump together when she breaks his heart, they clump together when he reciprocates and breaks hers.

He tries to stop noticing her, tries to stop noticing these little things, and the way that he _can't_ stop noticing them, because he's realized that he's committed every single one to memory.

It's these little things that can never be unlearned, that turns into the tether that pulls him back towards her.

The day they come together again, for _good_ this time, her eyelashes clump again. And just as he has always remembered, he knows exactly how to untangle them.


	5. This is fact not fiction

**A/N: Tumblr prompt**

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><p>He watches as she walks away, her name caught in his throat, hands in fists at his sides. She's right. He knows she's right, He doesn't have the right to feel this. He's lost whatever right he's ever had the moment she broke his heart and he decided that it'll just stay broken forever.<p>

He doesn't know what he was thinking, why he went on and on about Quinn and the prom and their campaign, when he could care less about all of it. He doesn't give a flying fuck about any of it. He's just been going through the motions, perfecting his role as Quinn Fabray's boyfriend. He doesn't really care. Whatever.

But then she started speaking, and all he could do was stare at her face as the words left her mouth, as she described the exact corsage he needs to stop Quinn's inevitable bitching. He doesn't care about that. He doesn't care about anything but her, and the way she smiled, her large brown eyes as open and honest as they have always been. In that moment, he saw her all over again, the girl he fell in love with, the girl he _still_ loves.

_Who are you trying to kid Hudson?_

She stops at the end of the hallway, and from where he stands; he can practically feel her hesitation. He waits, but she doesn't turn around. She just keeps on walking.

The feeling creeps up on him, resting between his bones until it turns into a weight that feels almost too heavy for him to bear.

He's losing her


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Tumblr prompt**

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><p>It takes them almost four whole days to get past it. It started with him unable to look her in the eye, and her refusing to acknowledge, well, <em>anything<em>.

Puck keeps trying to catch him, trying to talk about California and plans and opportunities but honestly, he can't think about any of that right now. He can't think of a future without her in it, didn't think it would ever come up as even a_possibility_, but after that conversation by his locker, he can't help it. The doubt had been planted in his brain and it stuck.

Because what if she says no? What if she refuses to listen, sticks stubbornly by her decision regardless of how he might feel? What's he going to do then?

But what if she says yes? What if she says okay? _Then_ what's he going to do? Her dream is important to him too, it always has been.

He still doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know what he'll do in New York, doesn't know what he'll do in California, but for the first time ever, someone is presenting him with an opportunity, with a choice, an opening, to figure _his_ life out. The future has always been uncertain for him, it's always been unclear, but it has never been this _hard_ before.

He knows she's here. He heard her as he made his way to his room, speaking quietly to Kurt (about them, he's sure). He sighs as turns on his back, slamming his body down on the bed in annoyance and barely hearing the quiet knock on his door.

He holds his breath, waiting for almost ten seconds before another knock comes.

"Come in," he says cautiously. She opens the door, but stays by the doorway as he stays put on the bed.

"Hi," she says, and he knows she's been crying by the hoarse sound of her voice. He nods his acknowledgement and sits up on the bed, taking a closer look at her. Her eyes are red. He _hates_ it when she cries.

"Hi," he says quietly.

"Finn," she whispers, and from where he is, he can see her face crumpling up again. "I'm sorry."

He feels his heart clench, because right now, he doesn't know what she's sorry for. But right now, it doesn't really matter.

"C'mere," he says gruffly as he finally looks her in the eye. She closes the door quietly behind her when she enters, and it takes only a few hesitant steps before she launches herself into his arms. His hands curve almost possessively around her waist and she clings to him as he closes his eyes, holding her as close to him as possible because even though they're fighting, she's still his best source of comfort.

"I'm sorry too," he mumbles against her ear, unsure of what _he's_ apologizing for, because he has no intention of taking his words back.

They sit quietly, with his arms around her waist and her head on his shoulder, for what seems like eternity, until she finally moves.

"What's going to happen now?" she murmurs, and he knows how scared she is to even utter those words, because it scares him too. He sighs, holding her closer.

"I don't know," he tells her. "But we'll figure it out together."


	7. Tiny little fractures

**A/N: I just can't resist the angst.  
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><p>His arms are starting to hurt, but they stay where they are, wrapped tightly around her small body as her frantic shudders are reduced to small, barely there tremors, the fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt releasing their grip. Her body is rigid, and if it weren't for the way her tears are causing her whole body to shake, she wouldn't be moving at all.<p>

She's been crying for hours. She hasn't stopped crying since he ran up to her frozen body on the stage, his long, awkward arms carefully gathering her slowly unravelling body into his arms.

She broke down the second he engulfed her, and he's been trying to put her back together ever since.

He wishes that he were better at this. He wishes that he knows what to do, what to say to make those tears stop, to stop her heart from breaking.

But he doesn't. He's not like her, he doesn't know the words to say to fix this, he has never known them. He's not like her, and the way she always knows the words that could heal his hurt. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to _do_.

And this is _killing_ him.

He holds her closer, pulling her as close to him as possible, and as she finally sags against him, he leans down to whisper against her hair.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay Rachel."

He feels her shaking her head against him, her fingers making their way back to his arms, her grip so tight that he feels her nails digging into his skin.

"It's not," she chokes out. "_Nothing_ is okay. I- I failed-"

"Rachel, no-"

"I blew it. That was my one chance and I blew it, and I'm never getting another one again."

He wants to tell her she's _wrong_. She's a star. From the moment he met her and for the rest of his life, she's always going to be a star. Can't she see that?

But he can't put his thoughts into words, can't articulate them into anything more than a sharp shake of his head and a convicted "You're _wrong_".

He pulls away from her, tugging against her jaw to gently force her to look up at him, and the look on her face feels like another sharp stab to his chest. Her bangs stick to the wet spots on her skin, her eyes puffy and barely open from the lashes that have clumped together. Quietly, he brings a hand up to her face, his giant, stubby fingers pushing her hair back, silently separating her lashes as the tears keep falling furiously down her cheeks.

"You're a star Rachel," he whispers, and as she starts to shake her head, her lips trembling, he leans down to kiss her forehead, moving his lips over her closed eyes, trailing the tears down her face as he holds her tighter.

"You _are_," he whispers against her cheek. "No matter what happened today."

She doesn't say a word, and a sharp sting of desperation shoots up from the bottom of his toes, straight up his spine, knowing that she doesn't believe a single word that he's saying.

He can't fix this.

There's a glass of water on her vanity, placed there quietly by a worried Hiram almost two hours ago, before her father left them, shooting Finn a meaningful look while Rachel ignored him. He heard Leroy slamming the front door about a half hour later, and the quiet, furious whispers that did not lead to his footsteps outside her door, and he knows they're hoping he could help her.

But he can't, obviously. Because she's still crying, and he's just sitting here like a douchebag, holding her and not saying anything.

She lets out a small hiccup that leads to a string of longer ones, and he pulls away from her in alarm.

"I'm just getting you some water," he tells her soothingly when she tightens her hold on him. It takes two long strides to reach the glass, and two long strides to reach her again, and when he slowly puts the glass up to her lips, she doesn't resist, taking a small sip of water.

"We're going to get you out of this dress, okay baby?" he says quietly. Every word that comes out of his mouth has been quiet for the past four hours, because he's too afraid to speak in anything louder than a whisper. She's still not saying anything, but she doesn't fight it when he pulls against the zipper at her back. She's moving on autopilot as she steps out of her dress, standing in front of him in her bra and lucky panties, the pink one with white ruffles on the edges, and there's that stab again when he thinks about how all her superstitions have let her down.

It's just not fair. It's so _fucking_ unfair, because _nobody_ deserves this more than her, and she didn't get it.

He pulls out the first pair of pants he sees, and she obediently puts them on. It's getting late, and he promised Puck that he would be at the choir room an hour ago, but he can't leave her like this.

She stands in the middle of her room in her pajamas, and she looks even smaller now than she ever did before, looking up at him with those large brown eyes still filled with tears.

Her lips start to tremble, and before he could reach her, she's falling apart again, sagging against him once his arms are around her, crying uncontrollably.

"_Ssh_," he whispers, pulling her up against him, half carrying, half dragging her back to the edge of the bed. He sits them down, wrapping his arms tightly around her as she breaks again.

He can't fix her.

All he _can_ do, is hold her while she cries.

And he'll do that for however long he has to.


	8. Habits

There are little things that she took for granted when being one part of a couple. Small little things, that turned into small perpetual things, that turned into habits that became a part of everything that defined them.

Like the slight, upturn of his lips every time they kissed, the way she learned to automatically lean up as he leaned down, the way his arms will curve around her back to pull her up, the way they both learned to get around their height difference.

He furrows his brows when he's upset, his eyes squint and his lips purse, and she learned to take his hand whenever it happened, learned to brush her thumb over the knuckle of his over and over until his forehead smoothed out and his palm turned up to squeeze her hand, their signal that told her he was okay. And if that didn't work, she learned to wrap her arms around him, to let him take the time to either let go or hold back, just as long as he knew that she was with him.

He learned to read her, to know when she was being dramatic and when she was real, when she was hurt. She began to expect things, like his safe, warm arms that could block out the rest of the world when she wanted them to. When she felt herself close to a diva storm out, she began to expect his hand to find hers, to see that small, reassuring smile on his face that calmed her down. She became accustomed to the way he comforted her, the way his presence calmed her in any situation.

These became their habits, their small, quiet gestures that they shared only with each other and nobody else.

And so now, now when they're saying goodbye, when his lips are pursed and his eyes squint uncontrollably, when she feels her heart breaking into a million tiny shattered pieces, when his presence causes her the most turmoil, her hands stay at her sides and his are fisted in his pants.

They stay quiet, immobile, because just one movement would propel them back, straight into their habits.

Now when these habits need to be broken, she doesn't know what to do.


	9. Landlocked Blues

From where he's standing, he watches as his brother runs after the train. Finn stops abruptly as it rounds the corner, and almost by reflex, Kurt moves to go after him. He stops himself when he sees the droop of Finn's shoulders, the slight tremble that shoots through his whole body. He stays where he is, watching Finn as he stands in place, looking out towards the empty train tracks. He starts when a hand touches his shoulder and turns to find Blaine's smiling face.

"You should go talk to him," Blaine says, nodding in Finn's direction. The rest of their friends have already taken off, and now it's just the three of them left at the train station. He sighs as Blaine wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer.

"I don't know what to say," he answers honestly, leaning his head against Blaine's shoulder as he closes his eyes.

"It's hard for both of you," Blaine agrees, nodding. The warmth of Blaine's arms envelope him, and in the last few days when everything else seems to have fallen apart, it's the one place that still comforts him. His gaze strays towards the tall boy once again, and it hits him how Finn's just as lost as he is, and the train that's taking his bestfriend to New York is also the same train that's taking away his brother's only source for comfort.

Kurt steels himself, pulling away from his boyfriend to square his shoulders.

"I'm gonna go talk to him," he says out loud, turning to Blaine only to find that small, familiar smile growing on his boyfriend's face. It pulls a similar smile out of him.

"Do you want me to wait for you?"

He shakes his head.

"I'll catch a ride with Finn. I'll call you later 'kay?"

Blaine nods, squeezing his shoulder once before turning to leave. Kurt turns his attention back to Finn, and in the five minutes that it took to say goodbye to his boyfriend, it seems like the boy still hasn't moved. In fact, he hasn't moved for almost half an hour.

Slowly, Kurt makes his way to him, taking slow, measured steps towards the edge of the platform. He stops when he's two feet away.

"Finn," he calls out softly. The station is quiet. Now that the train has gone, so has most of the onlookers, and safe for a few people milling about, they're all by themselves, and the only two people still standing on the platform. Finn doesn't make a move at his call, and he's almost sure that the boy didn't even hear him.

"She's gone," Finn says suddenly, body still rigid. Kurt sucks in a breath, uncertain with his response.

"Yeah," he says carefully. Finn turns towards him then, and the expression etched on his face is unreadable. But the squint of his eyes and red rim around them gives him away.

"She left Kurt," he says again, almost vacantly.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks, keeping one hand to his chest to keep his feelings from overwhelming him. Finn shakes his head, one stiff movement to the left and another to the right, his hands fisted into the edges of his suit, knuckles white from the force. He turns his head to look Kurt in the eye, and there's an almost desperation hidden in those brown orbs that alarms him.

"Did I do the right thing?" Finn asks. "I did the right thing. Right? I mean, this is the best for her. Isn't it?"

His eyes are begging for an answer, but Kurt doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what the right thing is. He thinks that maybe, yes, maybe this could be the best thing for Rachel. Maybe she needs this to reach her dreams. A part of him wonders if this was the best thing for Finn, but from the determined expression on his brother's face when he relegated his plans the night before, he knows that what's best for Finn right now is just an afterthought.

"I think," he says slowly. "I think you did the only thing you _think_ you can. And- and I think she understands that."

After all, nobody understands Finn and Rachel like Finn and Rachel.

Finn stares at him for a few seconds before he nods, running a hand through his disheveled hair with a sigh. They stand face to face in silence until he sees Finn's shoulders start to tremble once again. He knows his brother well enough to know that there're not a lot of things that Finn hates more than making a scene in public.

"C'mon you big lug," Kurt says easily, shuffling forward to softly punch Finn's arm. "Let's go home. Dad and Carole left us some pizza money, so you know what that means. Blaine's coming over for movie night."

Finn nods dumbly as they move together down the platform, and Kurt knows that he's barely listening.

"Look, Blaine even convinced me on a Die Hard marathon. That's like, five movies documenting Bruce Willis' deteriorating hairline, so you better tell me that you're going to enjoy it Finn."

"Sure."

They reach the end of the platform and Finn stops, turning once again towards the empty tracks.

"This _sucks_ Kurt," he mutters.

"I know. "

Kurt nods, silently patting his arm. Finn looks away from him, one hand going up to quickly swipe at his eyes before he starts to move again, eyes screwed shut, lips set in a thin, straight line. He walks briskly in front of Kurt, weaving quickly through the small crowd until they reach the car.

"It'll work out," Kurt says as he slips into the passenger seat. He watches as Finn's grip tightens around the steering wheel at his words. "You'll see. Everything will work out the way it's supposed to in the end."

Finn doesn't say a word as he starts the ignition.

"Let's just go home."


	10. such great heights

**A/N: sort of a blink-and-you'll-miss-it smut lol. Set during 4x04  
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><p>They're lying on her bed in her makeshift bedroom in New York, and she has her back to him, the side of her face pressed into the pillow. He watches the steady rise and fall of her body, gently pulling the sheets down from the top of her shoulder to the small curve of her back. Rachel has a small cluster of freckles just under her right shoulder blade. He doesn't think anyone knows this, except maybe her dads or something. They're miniscule, and barely noticeable, and the first time he saw it was just a few weeks after New York weekend, back when they were still living in some vacuumed state of bliss, sneaking around behind their parents' backs to make out any chance they got.<p>

He remembers her dress, the way it fell to the tops of her knees, and how the red and blue stripes contrasted with the smooth beige of her skin. She had a white headband on her head because it was the 4th of July and she color coordinates with everything. He remembers them in his room, their hormones running high with their hesitant touches and all those feelings they can't seem to put into words. He remembers daring himself to creep his hand up to her boobs, and the moment she pulled away to sit up, and how his heart had raced when he thought he'd gone too far. She'd stared at him, her wide brown eyes unreadable in his darkened room with the shades drawn, and when she quietly requested for him to help her with the zipper at her back, he thought he was dreaming. It was the first time he ever saw her naked, and they didn't do much of anything really, but he can still remember the furious beating of his heart and the way she trembled against his awestruck fingers. And he remembers the small cluster of freckles on her back and the sound of her giggle when he put his lips there.

She hates them, those freckles, even though she can't see them. She thinks it's a blemish, an imperfection on her smooth skin that some hypothetical dickhead director is going to use against her some day in some hypothetical topless/ nude scene (he never tells her that just the idea of her doing those kind of scenes in front of people bursts his blood vessel. He's smarter than that you know). But _he_ doesn't. He loves them, just like he loves every other part of her. He loves how unnoticeable they are, loves that he's the only one who knows they're there. She's a star, and one day everyone will love her, but he loves that there'll be one of those few things about her that only he will know, and only he will love.

Of course, back then thoughts like these comes easy to him, back when being together forever seemed like an inevitable fact instead of his highest form of wishful thinking.

For a moment, he's propelled back to his happiest Summer, as he runs his fingers softly over those freckles he loves, his hard and calloused hand grazing against her impossibly smooth skin. She stirs at his touch, but she doesn't wake up and he inches closer, shifts his body closer on the bed until it's touching hers when he scoots down, replacing his hand with his lips, softly kissing the space below her shoulder blade.

He feels kind of like a kid again, like they're still two teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs to make out (only it's Kurt instead, and this swanky New York apartment feels nothing like home). God, he hasn't felt like a kid in such a long time. In this moment, he is happy. And he can't seem to remember the last time he felt happy. He was sure that the feeling kind of went away with her back when he was running after that train, his body frozen as it rounded a corner and disappeared. For now, he's slipped into that vacuumed state of bliss, and he's determined to stay there, at least for this moment. Rachel is still asleep, and he winds his hand around her to rest it against her stomach, his large palm covering her waist. He feels her stomach caving in, and he grins against her skin, trailing his hand up to the curve of her breast. He leans up, pressing his lips against the shell of her ear before he whispers.

"I know you're not sleeping."

She doesn't say anything, but her shoulder shakes imperceptibly before it gives way to a small giggle as she rests her small hands on top of his, gripping his wrist before she turns in his arms. Her eyes are wide open when she looks at him, shining with the same love and affection he has become accustomed to in the last four years (he doesn't deserve it. Never has). The make-up around her eyes is smudged, and she looks like a raccoon, but she's still the most beautiful girl he knows.

"Hi," she whispers, leaning up to kiss him. He chuckles against her lips, and his hold around her tightens.

"Hi baby. Did you have a good nap?"

"Hmm," she nods, her lips moving up to his cheek. He grins, and she presses her lips into his dimple. "Did you?"

"I wasn't sleeping."

Rachel pulls back, looks at him incredulously.

"Finn Hudson? Not taking a nap? What has the world come to?"

He rolls her eyes at her teasing words, and tickles her ribcage to punish her. She squeals, trying to pull away, but he only pulls her closer (he never wants to pull away).

"I was looking at you," he tells her honestly. She smiles at that, and it's almost shy as she buries her face in his neck.

"I missed this," she tells him, and he feels the vacuum crack, but he smiles and flips them over, caging her beneath him. She looks up at him, waggling her eyebrows suggestively in a joking manner, and he laughs, leaning forward for a kiss.

"Kurt's going to be home soon," she tells him, her breathing hitch as his fingers move lower.

"I don't care," he mutters, and she snorts, shaking her head.

"Of course you don't."

"You'll just have to be really quiet," he murmurs against her ear. She sighs as she buries her fingers in his hair and curls her leg around his.

"Okay." He smiles, and she smiles, before her hands start to roam and when the room is silent, safe for the muffled sounds of their moans, he pulls back to her surprise, making sure that he looks her in the eye.

"I love you," he whispers. Her questioning expression melts into a giant beam, and it's like blinding light, brightening his world.

"I love you too."

(There are a million and one things nagging in the back of his brain. All his failures and shortcomings and fear, but he pushes them away, and buries his face against her neck instead, buries himself into her.)


	11. eyes wide shut

**A/N: FR missing moment, 4x04**

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><p>He stayed awake last night. She didn't know that. He knew she thought he was asleep long after their awkward silence. He stayed awake long enough to feel the cool air between them chilling his bones, to listen to her breathing change from short, erratic bursts of breath (when she was trying so hard not to let him hear her cry) to an even, steady pace when she calmed down.<p>

He kept his eyes shut when she turned towards him and inched herself closer. She didn't notice the way his eyes screwed tighter together when he felt her body pressed up against him, her small, soft fingers running up and down his chest. She made it hard to breathe last night when she buried her face against his arm and rubbed her nose against his skin, her whispered 'I love you' burning right through his surface, straight through him.

He's a better actor than he thought. He kept his eyes closed, kept his breathing even for hours until he felt her start to slacken against him, her fingers releasing the death grip they had around the fabric of his sleep shirt. She fell asleep with her arms around him, her face pressed against his shoulder. Still, he stayed quiet until he heard the tell-tale signs of her light snore. It was only then that he dared to open his eyes, glancing at the clock to see that it was almost three in the morning.

Extricating himself was the easy part (Rachel prides herself in being a light sleeper, but she always slept like a baby when he was next to her). He spent the next hour sitting cross-legged on her floor, staring at her like some creeper as his mind wandered. He's not mad at her. He knows she thinks he is, but he really isn't. She was right. He told her to surrender, and she did. He left without a word, didn't contact her at all in the last four months (not because he didn't want to. He _wanted_ to. He just- he just couldn't. If she had known the number of times he stared at his phone, staring at her name as he willed himself to call- but it's probably better that she didn't), and technically, she could do what she wanted. He just never thought she would.

He guesses that he knew from the get-go that it was all wishful thinking, the idea that he could just hop a bus to New York City to find Rachel, and that it would make everything better. It's just a fool's dream, and well, he fits that bill perfectly now, doesn't he? It's not about her kissing another guy, it's more about the other guy being better. _Obviously_ better. Brody is more talented, smarter, hotter, a bonafide NYADA senior who could probably dance circles around him. But it's not about her being with another guy. It's about her being exactly where she's meant to be (where he _isn't_), doing what she's always dreamt of doing, being surrounded by people who could help her more than he ever could.

It's about her fitting in at a place where he just doesn't.

They used to fit. They used to be exactly right (she was always just a little bit brighter though), but now she fits somewhere else, somewhere that doesn't have any room for him.

She has no _room_ for him in her life, and he doesn't want her to have to make one for him. He doesn't _want_ to be her deadweight. But God help him, he can't end this. He tried, but he can't.

She looked beautiful as she slept, she always does, but she _shines_ in New York City, brighter than he has ever seen her before, and it blinds him. Her light is _blinding_, and he could barely breathe or see or _feel_ in her presence without feeling like his whole life is falling apart (he feels like he's a rubber band, always one pull away from snapping).

She was beautiful when she slept, and he tried to memorize the way she looked, tried to sear the way her lashes fell against her skin and the way she tucked her hands under her jaw into his brain. It was almost five by the time he finally stood up and leaned over her, pressing his lips against the crown of her head softly so she wouldn't wake up (He whispered 'I love you' into her skin, and he hoped that she'll know he did).

He dressed in silence (that was one thing that stuck through his short stint in the army), and he allowed himself one long, lingering look at Rachel before he slipped out through the curtains.

It's a coward's way out (but life has proven time and again that he's never the hero, is he?).

She'll be so angry at him for this. She'll hate him.

(Maybe she'll do what he can't)


	12. nothing turns out the way we planned

**A/N: FR missing moment, 4x07**

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><p>So the lesson has been going pretty well so far. He's gotta give mad props to coach Bieste. If she hadn't given him the idea, he'd probably still be flailing right now. But because of her push, the only thing he's losing now is a little bit of pride walking down the halls every day in his ridiculous costume (But it's pretty badass, come on now. Even if he had to find some swimming trunks to cover up his junk, his mom is a total whiz when it comes to the needle and the thread).<p>

He's not gonna lie, he's pretty proud with the name he came up with.

The Almighty Treble Clef, uniter of glee clubs. Who the hell cares if he doesn't know whether or not uniter is a word?

(In the back of his mind, he thinks Rachel would have been so proud of it too. He wonders what she would think of his lesson plan? He thinks that her superhero name would probably be Songbird, or Spitfire. Or maybe Perfect Pitch. But this is all in the back of his mind, of course.)

Okay fine, so Jake and Ryder almost beat each other's faces off yesterday, but it's still cool, since he's put them on another assignment. He sure hopes so anyway, because those two dudes are awesome and they have awesome voices too, and it would suck some major balls if they couldn't work out their differences and he has to let one of them go.

Sectionals is just a little more than a week away, and just the _thought_ of it is making him feel like throwing up. Yeah, sure, he's been through three of these things, but never as the Director, you know? He's never like, been in complete control of everything. The music maybe, but the dancing? Hell no. Mike was always there to help with that, and Mr Schue was the one who did the placements and stuff with his little figure people. Thank God Mike is coming in next week to help him, or these kids are going to be done for.

But still, he figures he should get some head start. Which is why he's been standing in the storeroom for like, thirty minutes now, trying to figure out where Mr Schue (it's Will now. He keeps having to remind himself) kept his little figure people. The dude isn't picking up his phone, and Finn doesn't want to interrupt like a national showchoir emergency hearing or whatever, so he's kind of wigging it right now. His eye catches the red box under a pile of feather boas and he crouches down, pulling it towards him.

_Awesome_. There they are. He grins when he opens the box and finds the naked figure people piled on top of one another. They kinda look like they've all been chucked in there like it's a mass grave or something, which is a little creepy.

"Help us!" Finn says in a loud cartoon voice as he picks up 'Puck'. "We've been cramped up in this small space for months. Help us Almighty Treble Clef!"

"Never fear stick-Puck," he says in his best superhero voice, his grin a mile wide. "I'm here to save you from a lifetime of darkness, 'cause you're super helpful with the choreographing thing. Oh, but I'mma be replacing your face with Jake's 'kay?"

He chuckles, looking behind him to make sure that no one just heard that, before he turns around again, carefully taking the little figures out of the box one by one.

"Thank you Almighty Treble Clef. You're welcome stick-Tina. Thank you Almighty Treble Clef. You're welcome stick-Artie. Oh crap dude, I almost dropped your wheelchair, sorry. What kind of a stupid name is Treble Clef anyway? You're welcome stick-Santana. Than-"

He freezes, the figure in his hand looking up at him with her smile frozen in place. He pulls it up closer to him, almost smiling when he figures out that it's her junior year yearbook photo.

"Hey Rachel," he says quietly. She looks so different from the girl he just saw last week. It's like she's a completely different person. And maybe she really is, maybe they're both different now. He's been putting her at the back of his mind ever since that night happened. He's trying his best to forget about her, because remembering her means remembering the gaping hole that's perpetually occupying that space in his heart. But he can't ever really forget her, can he? Not unless he gets into like, an accident and get like, anemia (amnesia?) or something.

"I miss you," he whispers quietly to the figure in his hand. "You know?"

_Get a grip Hudson_, he tells himself. Sighing, he looks into the box, his eyes rummaging for his own little stick-Finn. He finds it and fishes the little dude out. There's a small empty space on the floor, and that's where he puts them; stick-Finn and stick-Rachel, side by side. He smiles wryly. At least _this_ version of them is still together.

Finn stares at the two figures quietly for a few more seconds before he takes a deep breath and steels himself.

"Back to business," he mutters under his breath, turning back to the box to pull out stick-Sam. He's not going to let his personal issues get in the way of Sectionals. These guys deserve better than that.

He _is_ the Almighty Treble Clef, after all.


	13. how this ends

**A/N: It could be a missing moment if you squint hard lol. Written with 4x14 in mind, pre-episode.**

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><p>They lay side by side in silence, the only sound in the room coming from the slight whir of the air conditioner. Her eyes are closed, and if she didn't know him as well as she does, she would have thought that he's asleep. But he's too quiet, she can't hear his even breathing or the light snore that was always a tell-tale sign of his slumber. He hasn't moved since the moment they both moved away, inching towards their ends of the bed like opposing magnets in the dim light. She imagines him lying on his back, eyes wide staring at the ceiling, his heart beating as painfully as hers. Even after all these months apart, she still knows him like the back of her hand.<p>

The thought of it hurts, the realization that this is what they are now, two people who know each other inside and out, flung to opposite corners even now, even after sharing the moment they just had. The feeling that she had been trying to stave off breaks through her stoic barrier, seeping into every corner of her body until she trembles with the effort to keep her tears at bay. But it doesn't keep her voice from breaking.

"This doesn't change anything, does it?"

He's silent for the longest time, but she knows he heard her from the frozen way his body is refusing to move. One word could make or break both of them, and even though she's old enough to know better, here when she's with him, she feels young enough to wait on his answer anyway.

"No."

It hurts. But it's a familiar pain, the kind exclusively associated with Finn Hudson, and she guesses she knew that it was coming from the moment they both they decided to throw caution into the wind. She feels suddenly all too aware of the nakedness of their bodies, cautiously pulling the sheets higher up against her chest.

"You have a boyfriend." His words are distant, but it sounds accusing and frankly, it's pissing her off.

"You still won't go to New York," she shoots back almost angrily. The truth of their situation is complicated, she knows, but there's still that angry, selfish part of her that wouldn't let go. There's still that part of her whose only fact was that he left her on her own.

"You moved on." She doesn't notice the softer tone of his voice, the subdued way he said the words, because she's too busy being on the defense, protecting herself from him, like she should have done from the very beginning.

"Because you left!" she exclaims, sitting up abruptly, ignoring the sheets that fall to her waist. "You _left_ me."

"And you still hate me for it," he murmurs, undeterred by her anger. Her head snaps towards him in surprise, and it's a little jarring to realize that he's already staring at her. Has he been looking at her all this time? The dim light casts shadows on his features, and she can't quite read his eyes, but his face is somber as his eyes meet hers and he doesn't turn away when he speaks.

"I let you go, and you hated me for it. Do you still hate me now?"

"I- sometimes."

There's a wry smile on his face as he nods his head once, and it strikes her again, how much older he seems since the last time she saw him. It hurts just a little to know how good he's doing without her (but she's happy for him, she'll never not be happy for him). He looks away, sighing when she refuses to back down.

"Sometimes I think about it, you know. That day at the train station."

"Do you think about what would happen if you didn't let me go?" she asks impatiently, waiting for him to continue. She thinks about that one a lot.

"No," he says without missing a beat. He looks up at her determinedly. "If I had to do it a million times, I'd still do the same thing Rachel."

His answer only serves to fuel her anger.

"Well I think about that sometimes. If we had gotten married, if you didn't join the army, if you hadn't put me on that train-"

"You'd last until the Summer," he cuts in. "And then fall would come, and all you'd be thinking about is NYADA."

His words feel like a slap on the face.

"Do you think that little of me?" she asks quietly, hurt. He turns toward her and his expression is firm when he shakes his head.

"Rachel, I think the world of you, you know that. I think that you're- that you're still the most _amazing_ person I know and you deserve, more than anything, to get out of Lima and be a star, and if you'd- if you'd stayed-"

"I could have helped you. I could have helped you find your dream-"

"At the expense of yours."

"I-"

"You know what I think about? I think about doing the same thing. I think about letting you go, and getting you on that train. And I think about- I think about you saying no. I think about you refusing to go, and putting your foot down to stay with me."

"Finn-"

"And when you didn't-"

"That's _not_ fair-"

"And when you didn't," he continues loudly, ignoring her. "That's when I knew that I did the right thing."

He holds his own against her frustrated stare, and she sees the signs of a tired smile on his face, and it infuriates her.

"You bullied me into going," she tells him angrily.

"I know."

"You packed my bag for me, you had my parents waiting for me in New York."

"I know."

"Damn it Finn, you told me you were joining the _army_."

"I know."

"Then how could you expect me to-"

"I didn't."

"Finn, what are you trying to say?" she asks, annoyed.

"I think about you saying no, and about you staying. I think we could have been happy. For a while. But you wouldn't be happy here, you know that."

"That was _my_ decision to make."

"I know. I realize that now, and I'm sorry. But I don't regret what I did, most of the time. Do you?"

She refuses to look at him, her frustrations still running high. But what's the point of all this now, when it all feels so far away, a lifetime ago. Now there's her and there's Finn, and there's that feeling between them that's still the same (the only thing about her that's still the same), and they're wasting precious time.

"No, not most of the time."

They don't talk about "some of the time," they both know all too well about that. He shoots her another harmless smile, and it pulls one out of her.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "We're just two consenting adults having a good time. I know that. I just-"

"Rachel," he cuts in, one hand reaching out to delicately curve his palm around her waist. His face is earnest when he looks at her, and there's that look that Finn always has, just for her, piercing through her heart. "No we're not. I mean, we are, but- but we're more than that."

She doesn't even realize that he was pulling her closer until she's just an inch away from him. He lets go and sits up too, leans back against the headboard while she watches him.

"Are we?" she murmurs. He nods, holding out his hand once more for her to take. She does, mimicking his posture as she leans back, their entwined fingers resting on her lap. "What are we then?"

"We were- we were two kids who loved each other so _much_, we almost got married. We were two kids who had to grow up and realize that things weren't that easy, you know it's not," he says without pause, when she opens her mouth to retort. She keeps it shut with a relenting sigh. Finn turns towards her, leaning his forehead intimately against hers. "And we're- we're two young adults who need to- need to find who we are, before-"

He stops, and she can see him vacillating, doubting himself for a second. She hates it when he doubts himself. She turns her body closer towards him, her free hand reaching out to rest against his neck.

"Before?" she whispers quietly, coaxing his words out of him. "Before what?"

He leans forward and closes the space between them, and no matter how old they get or how much they change, she's certain that this will always feel the same. The feel of his lips and his strong arms will always feel like home to her. The kiss is enthusiastic, explosive, just like every other kiss they've shared tonight, that nagging awareness that every kiss could be a last once sticking out sorely in both their minds. He pulls away and she's out of breath, their clasped hands pressed tightly between their bodies.

"Before we find each other again," he says. She swears that her heart is leaping against her chest, but she plays it cool.

"Again?" she asks, raising her eyebrow. He grins, suddenly pulling her down with him. She squeals when he rolls their bodies over and cages her in his arms. His playful smirk gives way to a tender smile, and she feels it from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes when he leans down to press his lips against her cheek.

"Again."

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><p><strong>AN: so fluffy lol**


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